


The Storytellers

by theheadandthekin



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: And Even More Shade, F/M, Fluff, More Shade, Shade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadandthekin/pseuds/theheadandthekin
Summary: Days after defeating Pandora, Abbie and Crane get a report from Joe about a strange structure that's suddenly appeared along the Hudson. AU, post-S3. j/k this is not AU. This is canon.





	The Storytellers

**Author's Note:**

> Lest anyone take this (and the tags) the wrong way, the women in the Temple are ABSOLUTELY the good guys. No shade. 
> 
> The others, however ...
> 
> Well.

“After that snake-faced bitch, I want nothing— _nothing_ —to do with any mythological Greek … whatever.”

Abbie passed her binoculars to Crane so he could see across the river for himself.

“Lieutenant, I do not believe we have another _Pandora_ situation on our hands.”

He lowered the binoculars and looked down at her softly. “Firstly, the structure is new and freshly painted. Secondly, the lettering on the frieze is a transliteration of your name in Ancient Greek. Well, more or less. I would have done it a bit differently.”

“Show-off.” She shook her head. “So, there’s a temple on the Hudson with my name on it.”

“It appears so.”

Nothing surprised her anymore. “Any guess what it is or what it means?”

“Not in the least.”

“Okay, options. One: leave it. Two: go investigate. Three: recruit Jenny and Joe and investigate with backup. Four: alert other authorities.”

“When have we _ever_ alerted the authorities? And we are due some help, are we not? Perhaps it’s a gift.”

“Or a trap.”

* * *

A brown-skinned woman in a long dress rushed down the steps of the temple. “O, our Grace! It _worked_! I knew it, but to see it!”

Abbie turned a puzzled expression to Crane, who mirrored the confusion she felt.

“What worked?”

“Are you speaking of some sort of magic?”

The young woman laughed at him as she approached. “No! Not the kind you’re thinking of, anyway. Maybe some people would call it magic, but it’s not special or anything. We aren’t witches.”

Abbie slid her hand up closer to the gun at her hip, just in case.

“Okay.” She replied carefully. “But this wasn’t here two days ago. And you didn’t build this in two days.”

“Oh.” The woman shrugged. “Storytelling. What we believe and what we tell one another makes things so.”

Before he could advance on the woman to demand further explanation—and probably thrust a finger in her face—Abbie stopped Crane with an arm across his chest. She had a strong suspicion his antics would not be welcome.

“Sorry, there isn’t more to it than that. But, oh, _GOD_! You're here!”

She wasn’t lying, Abbie knew that; she was excited but assured, her gaze open and steady. But whole buildings couldn’t just be _believed_ into existence.

“Here, I can show you! Where are my manners? I'm just a bit overwhelmed. _Of course_ you’re welcome in your own temple!”

Before she could answer, she was being pulled forward to the steps.

When Crane tried to follow them in, her guide turned abruptly.

“ _You_ aren’t allowed in. Remember, not everything is about you. Or _for_ you.”

Abbie held her chuckle in until they were inside. Barely.

* * *

From outside, the temple had seemed pretty lifeless. Inside, it was filled with women. Or, at least, beings that presented themselves as women. She wasn’t going to assume she was interacting with humans.

They were crowded into rooms, sitting in circles on the floor or in knots in the hallways, all talking amongst themselves. Some gestured and seemed to be acting out their words. Others looked enraptured, or laughed. A few sat with their heads together, lost in whatever they were sharing.

“They’re telling stories.”

Her guide smiled back at her. “Of course they are. I know what you’re thinking, too. Yes, we’re ordinary, flesh-and-blood human beings. You know as well as I do the power of stories to make— _remake_ —the world.”

Abbie immediately thought back to the lies she told about what happened in the woods with Jenny.

“Nothing more pedestrian or human than that.”

“Right.”

It took some effort to weave through the women. She heard short snippets of conversation, something about Andy Brooks, something about a cyclops, something about a baby. Something about wall sex.

Wall sex?

“Does, um … does every story told become real? No, obviously. That’d be pretty confusing.”

“Definitely not! Only the important ones. The ones we _all_ believe. That’s where the action is. So to speak. Mostly it's fun, but we're also your failsafe.”

Abbie would have to ponder that one later. They’d made it finally into the center of the temple: the courtyard.

“Now.” The young woman grasped both her hands and smiled. “Look up.”

Abbie had been stunned plenty as a Witness—in ways good and bad—but this maybe took the cake.

In the middle of the space was an enormous statue, draped in gold. It was _gorgeous._

As Abbie gazed in awe up at herself, five times life size, a sudden chorus of voices rose around her.

“You must help us.”

* * *

She spotted her partner sitting on a log and playing on his phone a couple hundred feet from the temple entrance and jogged toward him.

“Crane! We gotta go!”

He rose. “What? Are you in danger?”

“No! Well, yes. Sort of. _They_ are in danger. Which means I’m in danger. I think.”

“‘They’?”

“The women. Hundreds of them. They’re inside. They made themselves known to us—to me—because they’ve got people after them.”

“And that’s where we come in.” He reached out and grasped her elbow. “Abbie. Are you certain it isn’t a trap?”

She paused a moment, reviewed the evidence. Listened to her gut. She nodded. “Yes. I’m certain.”

“Lead the way, then.”

* * *

The gate across the roadway was locked.

“I could hotwire it, but I don’t want to alert them. We’ll go in on foot.”

“Quite the compound they have here. I’ve read about these sorts of cults.”

Abbie shook her head. “Run-of-the-mill gated community, Crane. They’re using the existing rules to enforce their little obsession with you. Sorry, you’re not quite special enough for your own construction project.”

“Hmm, point taken. Do we need to worry about them summoning demons or hellspawn if we’re discovered?”

“Nah, not capable. They _might_ want to kill me and kidnap you, but their issue is with the Temple. Not really interested in the Apocalypse stuff.”

“ _Delightful_.”

She patted his leg. “Still, you’re gonna have to put on a hat. And that pair of Joe’s coveralls in the back. One size fits all.”

He groaned. “Bloody hell.”

“But I’m gonna need a boost over the gate to let you in from the other side.” She grinned at him with mock innocence. “Maybe that’ll make up for the _sartorial indiginity_ you gotta endure to be incognito.”

* * *

There were only a dozen houses on the cul-de-sac; it wouldn’t take long to get things done and get out.

They got lucky sneaking into the backyard of the first house. The sliding door had been left open on the patio, and there was no evidence of anyone being home.

“Just a little B&E.” Abbie slid the door open the rest of the way to let Crane in. “Reminds me of the old days.”

When she turned to scan the room they’d entered, her hand flew to her mouth to keep a shocked giggle from escaping.

Her partner was not so amused.

“This is utterly terrifying. I don’t know why you are finding it so humorous.”

“No shit. But come _on_ , Crane. There is a cardboard cutout!”

“I wish I had a temple erected in my name instead.”

“You’re just jealous that there are statues of your slave-owning buddies everywhere. And now there’s one of me. Which—just saying—is bigger than any statue of Old 'Slave Teeth' George I know about.”

The walls were papered in images of Crane, repeated over and over. A few were from the local paper, one was from the historical society’s website, several others looked like grainy paparazzi shots. There were also one or two selfies with people Abbie suspected lived on this very street.

He muttered something about 'depravity on the internet' and grimaced at the wall.

“Remember,” she said in a sing-songy voice. “This is not about you, this is about me. And all those women. So stop being so cranky and help me.”

Her phone buzzed with a reply text from Jenny.

“Time to get to work.”

* * *

They cast the Forgetting Spell inside or on the property of each house and then finally in the middle of the street. Thankfully, no one had caught them.

It was a simple logic, at least: stop the frankly bizarre obsession with him, stop the attacks on the Temple. Stop the attacks, save the women in the Temple. Save the women, save her.

Abbie shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Lucky Grace Dixon had a spell to ward off sexual obsession in her journal. Imagine it was a mighty powerful weapon for the women she protected. Hope spells adapt to technology, though.”

Crane looked down at her, raising an eyebrow under the bill of his ‘Bob’s Wreck ‘N’ Junk’ hat. “I suppose we could try another method of using technology in our favor. Just in case, of course."

“Yeah? What do you have in mind? Hacking? Jenny could pr—”

“No, something far more mundane, Lieutenant.”

“Oh?”

And that was how Abbie Mills found herself sharing with the world—via Instagram—a very sweet first kiss with Ichabod Crane against the backdrop of a creepily quiet suburban street.

* * *

Cheers erupted in the Temple.

The women shared new stories long into the night.

* * *

Some hours later, in a small cluster across town, search engines were bombarded with requests for “benedict cumberbatch shirtless.”

* * *

As for what happened inside a certain home shared by our two Witnesses that evening (and that night, and that next morning) … you can use your imagination.

All you really need to know is that Abbie Mills lived.

And lived happily ever after.


End file.
